


Secrets and Magic

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Magic, M/M, Magic-Users, Mycroft's Meddling, Psychic Vampirism, Vampires, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-31
Updated: 2014-07-31
Packaged: 2018-02-11 04:44:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,217
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2054115
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Psychic Vampire Sherlock and Magic User John have been keeping their secrets from each other quite well, until a case and an injury bring all the truths to the surface.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Secrets and Magic

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Qualyn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Qualyn/gifts).



> Magical powers and creatures in this story are loosely based on The Dresden Files book series by Jim Butcher. I have not held tightly to his canon vampires, so I have not tagged this for that fandom.

The cab pulled up in front of Holmes Manor and John chucked a handful of bills through the partition to the driver. Probably triple what the trip cost, but John didn’t have time to worry about that. Sherlock was here. Sherlock was hurt. Nothing else in the world mattered.

John rushed in through the front door, and up the stairs to where he knew Mycroft was keeping Sherlock. He pounded on the solid wooden door until Mycroft slid out, shutting and locking it behind him.

“Mycroft, so help me God, you will let me in to see him.”

“His doctors are with him now,”

“His doctor is right bloody here.” he snapped. He could feel his power drawing up around him, prepared to take out everything between himself and Sherlock, the bloody British Government included. “Let me in there or I’ll…”

“Or you’ll what?” John felt all the energy rush away from him in a wave, and the air around him crackled. He willed the power back, but it hardly responded.

“Mycroft, what have you done to me?”

“A brief damper, I assure you. A neutral space to discuss. We must cover this quickly and with as little violence as possible, you see.” Mycroft directed him to a low backed leather club chair, one that matched the pristine old worldly feel of Mycroft’s den. John only took a seat after Mycroft sat first.

“Does Sherlock know?”

“Of course Sherlock knows. Did you really think you had fooled him? Good lord, you are truly slow.”

“I do not need my magic to tear you apart, Mycroft Hol-” John felt his mouth shut by force. He directed his best glare to Holmes Senior and waited for his explanation.

“I do believe that is the most practical trick up my sleeve.” Mycroft said smugly, crossing his ankle over the opposite knee.

John tried to reach for his power and found nothing. He fixed Mycroft with a silent but deathly glare and inclined his head as if to say _continue_.

“Sherlock and I are not actually Holmes, or full brothers. Within the court I claim him as a son, but he is not. No one I have spoken to knows his parentage, except for an obviously White Court father.”

John opened his mouth to ask questions, but nothing came out. Not everything about his enigmatic flatmate fit with what he knew of the “bloodless vampires”, those who preyed on the life energy of humans through sex or, less commonly, through induced fear and despair.

“If you will mind your tone and manners, I will release you, Dr Watson.” John nodded, and felt the hot binding on his tongue dissolve.

“How much does Sherlock know?”

“Yes,” Mycroft paused dramatically as he did when making a point. “That would be your concern, wouldn’t it? Probably everything, but I have not shared my intel with him. Had you been more forthcoming with him, I think his success rate would be higher. Surely you have contacts that would have been of use, despite your lack of official status.”

John hung his head in shame, thinking about all the ideas and intel he wanted to share, but held back. He hadn’t been ready to tell Sherlock his past. How many other injuries and unsolved cases were his fault too? And Sherlock was a room or two away right now. He could feel him, weak and suffering.

“I am calm. I need to see Sherlock now.”

“And I said his doctors are with him. It will be a while yet before you can.”

“If he’s White Court, why have I been stitching up cuts and treating concussions? Why does he need doctors at all?”

“Because my brother is a stubborn man who refuses easy, nourishing food in favor of self sacrifice. His _Hunger_ is half starved, nearly powerless to aide his physical form.”

“Because he won’t seduce people, you mean.” The thought of it turned the words bitter in John’s mouth. “Because he refuses to let his _transport_  get the better of him.”

“However you say it, the fact remains. ‘ _Sipping_ ’ at the emotional turmoil of London, at the trauma imprinted on crime scenes, at your own supply of anger and fear, is like too little bread and water and nothing else. He requires more nourishment to come back from this.”

Mycroft looked down his hawkish nose at John, the fire dancing in the still chill room.  

“And they are, what, force feeding him?” John unconsciously reached for his power again, wanting to both attack and protect himself, and flee. The barest trickle came to him, and he struggled to hold it, like water in open hands.

“On anger and despair, not sexual energy.” Mycroft hastily clarified. “Willingly supplied by upset individuals, who receive respite. I am not a cruel man, Dr. Watson, despite what you think. There are many who would lie with him more than willingly. Sherlock is not, even when his _Hunger_  takes charge.”

“Never?”

“You will have to ask him, but my understanding is exactly that: _never_. He will be well this evening, and I believe you have a case to work on. Dreadful business, werewolves in London. And so undependable; it’s not even a full moon.”

\--------------------

John made a call in the black sedan on his way home, and found his mentor waiting for him at Speedy’s by the time he got home. The encounter, the entire night really, had set his teeth on edge. He caught himself staring, and schooled his face to reflect friendly affection, rather than the school boy crush he often felt for the older man.

John owed everything, his very life, to Major James Sholto. The army officer had discovered John’s latent talents during a recruiting fair in his second-to-last year of uni. John had been trained from a distance to start while finishing his A-levels and starting med school; then further in person when they found he had a strong talent for delicate workings. James was the only wizard John kept contact with after he found himself lacking enough magical power to truly qualify for the title himself.

“John, I didn’t think you would be calling so soon after we last spoke. In a spot of trouble again?”

“More like a lake of it. Come upstairs where it’s safe. I’ll explain.”

John lead him through the door and up the stairs to 221B. James took a seat on the couch, but John went straight to the kitchen to make tea. He stood stock still while he waited, all except for his hand, clenching over and over.

James came and sat at the table. “I can feel the tension from the living room, John. I could probably feel it from Kent. Ignore the bloody tea and explain this to me.”

John dropped into his chair, and buried his head in his hands. “Werewolves that can’t be werewolves, a coven who won’t leave me be... _and oh, yes_ , my flatmate is White Court and I haven’t known this whole time.”

“Well, this calls for stronger than tea.” James opened a few cupboards to find clean tumblers and a bottle of scotch. Pouring them each a good measure, he sat back down and took a sip.

“Nice stuff, John. Have a bit and start in on the case first.”

**Author's Note:**

> You can find me on [tumblr](http://type40consultingdetective.tumblr.com/).


End file.
